Kiss of her Dreams
by kickasslibrarian
Summary: Molly never meant for Sherlock to know about the dream she had, but if he'd never know then... Toby sets in motion something Molly doesn't have the guts to instigate herself. Kissing. LOTS of kissing. It is my FAVOURITE thing to write about :) I mean, who doesn't love a good snog?


**You were in my dream**

 **last night. You were a**

 **terrible kisser. Lol!**

Molly sipped at her tea, both hands wrapped around the cup, and stared at the text she'd written, but was too pussy to send.

What would it achieve, if she did? He would dismiss it, like he did every text she sent him that he hadn't instigated. Sherlock Holmes was only interested in answers to questions _he_ posed. What good was a statement? What puzzle was there in an anecdote?

She finished her tea, swept up the crumbs from her toast and deposited everything in the dishwasher. She gave the phone another glance before putting more food out for Toby, who was never happy with just one breakfast.

Before she left the kitchen, she stopped to stare at the words that dared her from the screen of her mobile phone.

What harm could it do?

It was funny, wasn't it?

He might even laugh...

Her fingers hovered over 'SEND'.

Toby mewed down by her feet and laced himself between her legs.

"My one true love," she said, picking him up and giving him a good scratch behind the ear. She squeezed him as he wriggled in her arms, and he leapt onto the counter, positioning himself between her and the phone.

He gave her one of his best kitty glares.

"You're right," she said as she backed away from the worktop, leaving her phone behind. "It would be a ridiculous thing to do."

With a bite of her lip, she headed out of the kitchen and straight for the shower, leaving Toby to prowl around the worktop, searching for missed crumbs, streaks of marmalade, droplets of tea.

Finding none, he sank down to his front paws and stretched out. Then he rolled around for a bit, finally coming to settle with his bottom on the phone, his tail flicking up and down, back and forth across the screen which lit up once again with the words his human had forgotten to delete.

Some miles away, a phone 'pinged' at 221B Baker Street.

Molly hadn't forgotten about the text, or the dream that had prompted it. In fact, the dream was the reason she was running late for work, having spent so long in the shower re-imagining it. It wasn't the first time she'd been late because of Sherlock and the thought of his mouth, his lips, his tongue, his…

 _Ahem_

She raced into the kitchen, bag and coat already bundled under her arm. She collected her lunch from the fridge, her phone from the counter, gave Toby another quick scratch behind the ear, a kiss on the head, and ran out the door.

Many streets away, the world's only Consulting Detective was already in the shower.

It wasn't even 9 o'clock.

Molly was going through the handover documents for the third time when she heard the doors to the lab fly open.

"This is a surprise!" she said too brightly as Sherlock Holmes stalked towards her, coat flapping, curls bouncing, face set in a grim frown. "It's not even 9 o'clock. Have you been out all night aga-"

The last word stuck in her throat as he grasped her face in his impossible hands and crashed his lips to hers so hard and fast that she flung her arms out, bracing against thin air.

She teetered on tiptoes, waiting for it to stop - for the dream to end - but it didn't; his lips were pressing against hers, his fingers were tugging their way into her hair, and his tongue was tasting hers in the most maddeningly seductive way, making her squeal, heating her cheeks.

When she felt one of his hands travel to cup the back of her head, when his fingers - those fingers she thought about far too often to be normal - were tickling the nape of her neck, she let herself kiss him back; she let her arms snake around his waist; she let her body press against his. She let herself believe it was real.

Which was when the world slowed down.

The race he had been in seemed to have ended and he was kissing her slowly, pulling away to press his lips tenderly, achingly against hers. Small kisses, full lipped kisses, tiny flick of the tongue kisses.

An age seemed to pass as he dragged out each one and she held tightly to him, afraid every second that it would end. But it didn't, even when the phone rang. He moved as if to pull away but she grabbed his arms, pulled him back in, kissed him with the urgency he had first kissed her and for seconds, minutes, ages, they kissed one another as if there was nothing else in the world to do.

And then the phone rang again, and he brushed her cheeks with his thumbs as he slowed to a stop, as he separated their mouths, leaving just their foreheads touching.

"Not such a terrible kisser, after all." His voice was a rasp and he had to clear his throat halfway through, so she didn't quite catch it...she wasn't quite sure.

She tilted her head, expecting him to repeat the words, but he just smiled his thin-lipped smile and pressed one more kiss to her temple. Then there was another - a peck, delivered to her lips, and he turned and walked away.

He looked back when he was at the doors, when his hand was spread wide on the wood, ready to push through into the world outside of this moment.

He cleared his throat - "I hope to be less disappointing in the next dream." - and he was gone.

She stood, chest heaving, mouth agape until the phone had rung out one more time.

Then, hands shaking, she reached for the mobile in her pocket.


End file.
